Dare You To Move
by theytalktome
Summary: The most beautiful people all have one key thing in common, according to John Morrison. SLASH: Morrison / Miz


Dark eyes fluttered open behind a pair of light brown Dior sunglasses; seizure inducing images of flashing lights and his tag-team partner's crotch grinding up against his perfect ass, complete with roaming hands and lusty kisses over the tanned flesh of his skin made him buck and writhe in the seat he'd been curled up into and laying sideways across. That same person's hand had been shaking his shoulder and calling his name to wake up.

Reliving last night's events as a dream was perfect - and a nightmare at the same time. Every moment his mind could project that rocked his night had been the countless women fawning all over him; the autographs he had signed and of course his amazing boyfriend and their all night rave. The cause of his constant squirming had been when the night turned for the worst in his mind. He passed his "chick magnet" onto one of the hotter women that had been feeling him up all night, and set to the bar for a drink.

He took a seat on a stool, a bottle of beer had suited just fine until he met the man beside him. The Shaman of Sexy wouldn't have ever known it by looking at the train wreck that had been downing shots by the second. He cast him off as a nobody, and even felt as to go as far as moving his seat further away so he didn't have to see him, but he was about to head back to the dance floor anyway.

Teeth nibbled on his bottom lip, designer sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose slightly, the entire place even brighter with out them. He wouldn't have been surprised if he walked - or was dragged - or dragging someone - out of there with his body glowing a bright neon color. Eyes fixed on his long time boyfriend; that girl was getting just a little too close for her own good.

John took a swing from the bottle before coughing it up on the floor, turning instantly to the person beside him. That voice. He swiveled the seat to face him - that man used to be on television when he'd been younger. Modeling, a sex symbol, everything. He couldn't bare to make any conversation besides that casual "Oh, I know you," and dealing with the aftermath of the what happened story destroyed people always came with. John's mind was racing, anxiety built up into some form of obvious panic behind his sunglasses. He passed his beer onto his lover and decided to start downing shots since the bartender would have thought he was insane for asking about grain alcohol.

In his awake world - unknowingly he had been walking through the airport already; the sound of his heeled boots clicking the floor bringing him back down to reality and wondering how exactly he managed to be holding onto his luggage and roll it along. His would-be-free hand held and led the rest of his body forward by The Miz. He tilted the glasses back against his nose as they began to fall, glancing down to his hand as it had been let go and seconds later he was cringing at an ear shattering scream that proclaimed they where indeed at the airport: It followed by a pack of guys and mostly girls, and an annoying camera man...

John stopped walking only for a moment to watch his partner sign autographs for the people who waited to see them there before he took off with out a second glance to a single one of them. He could wait in the limo for him once he found their waiting driver, complete with their "Mike & John" sign that had been a dead give away to the flock of people who at confirmation probably called up more for their gathering.

He tried to go back to sleep, and failed miserably, rubbing at his eyes and unwantedly picturing himself in place of the ex-star. His eyes kept opening to that scene. He shifted his seat to the side row, roaming through the bar until he found something good enough to drown himself in. He hadn't slept at all last night, even after they got back from the club and had more than enough time to get some much needed sleep. While Mike was sound asleep, snoring even, his mind was stuck racing with thoughts he never wanted to have and he was pounding down drinks as fast as he could to forget.

Morrison spent hours looking in the mirror, drowning himself in his own vanity until he felt like he was getting old for the first time. Half the "night" was spent behind the curtains watching the passing cars on the distant high way. He was down in the gym: pacing the halls, outside the lobby watching the sun rise, and at breakfast the minute it started, and back up in their room for two minutes of comatose sleep before the phone was ringing their wake up call to fly half way across the country.

"Whats with you?" the door opened and failed to catch his eyes at Mike's voice. John said nothing and didn't listen to him complain about not staying with him inside, and something else he was whining about didn't register. He didn't care to pay attention.

Mike sighed and rolled his eyes. He figured to just let John shut himself up for a while, it was a nice change until the hour long silence was becoming unbearable. He was just sitting there, distant, staring into the liquor and taking an occasional sip from it. He pestered him with questions about something being wrong; when he couldn't take his silence, and the only response he ever got was "Nothing" he rolled his eyes and decided to give up and have a one sided conversation about himself.

With out any input from John, he fell asleep on his side of the limousine being unable to understand why a airport couldn't be closer to the hotel. He only managed to wake up minutes before they arrived there. John broke his silence and slowly turned to look up at him after taking a drink from the glass and swishing it gently in his hand.

"Mike?"

"Look whose talking, finally," he chuckled.

"You know, I've always admired those gorgeous celebrities who die tragically young, you know? They look amazing... and just like that, it's over for them... and suddenly, everyone loves them and appreciates them so much more... You know?"

"What the fuck are you going on about? You're insane," he laughed, surprised with himself that he suspected something was wrong, John always talked about his obsession with dead beauty queens and kings and sex symbols and the world's obsession for them after their deaths.

The rest of the ride was painfully silent.

Morrison sighed heavily as he took his bag and walked into the hotel, stopped by Mike who grabbed him by the arm, "What's the matter? Did I do something?" he asked nervously, reaching up and taking the sunglasses off his face, the hurt and destruction in his eyes proved something was wrong, "John?"

"I'm fine," he offered a fake smile that would have fooled anyone who wasn't as in love with him as Michael Mizanin was. He freed his arm from the gentle grip and set to checking their room in. He immediately took attitude up with the snotty woman behind the counter who was making it clear that she didn't approve of their relationship.

The boys responded with a kiss, and a firm "Go to hell" along with several remarks about her face, weight, age and everything else that made her incredibly unattractive and her job which made her a failure at life.

Mike decided to stay down stairs and lurk around for a while, he'd get some guys together and find something to do if John wanted to be left alone that badly - which he did, even if in the back of his mind he was screaming for him not to leave and everything came out calm and casual when he told him not to worry and to just go.

They parted ways at the elevator, kissing one last time.

Room service came fairly quick, unfortunately it had only resulted in a bottle of wine. He downed half the bottle and attempted to fall asleep. Restlessness set in; but he would have done anything in the world to escape his own mind. The television held nothing of interest as he surfed the channels, laying upside down, and playing the games held no actual fun unless Mike was there. Every commercial brought his thoughts back. Diet, age, hair dye, cosmetics, money, cars and the world striving for some product to make themselves reach perfection - something he had already achieved. He curled up in the bed, pulling the sheets over his head and groaning in annoyance; his upcoming birth date was weighing heavily on his mind when it was nothing to be worried about in the slightest bit at all.

He threw the sheets to the floor, getting out of bed and running his hands through his thick brown hair and dieing to find something else. Sleep wasn't going to come, at least not before tonight's show, but with his luck, it was probably going to hit him like a ton of bricks the second his entrance music started and the fans were booing him.

The bathroom sparked his attention, and the second he pushed it open he was greeted with a hot tub in the corner. Perfect - except that it lacked several, or many, large breasted women - and his Mike.

John felt out of it for the first time as he turned the water on and watched it start to fill, his thoughts finally emptied and his expression blank. Absentmindedly his feet led him back to the bedroom, to his suitcase and stripped naked there and found himself back in front of the mirror; his red bedazzled pants adorning his legs and completely dressed for tonight's match. Dark eyes glanced at the water, and back to the mirror. The feeling of his heart beat was pulsating on the outside. No amount of alcohol was going to alter what he was trying to forget, trying not to feel, and trying to escape.

The furry red jacket fell to the floor as he stepped up into the water. The fabric of his pants clung closer onto his skin, his hands clung to the rim of the tub as he eased into it. Everything was silent. Peaceful. Morrison's eyes closed, pale lips releasing a sigh as they slowly opened, his reflection bringing a smile to his face. The only thing that was more perfect than him was Mike, being with The Monk of Mojo was perfect, they were perfect together. He could only hope that The Miz knew that once he closed his eyes, exhaled all that was left and submerged himself - perfection would always last forever.

The ever present cheery mood was about to be completely shattered as Mizanin stepped off the elevator. He wasn't gone for too long, and already needed to borrow a couple of bucks for the vending machines. He had an entire plan, to just slip into the room as stealthy as he could, retrieve his boyfriend's wallet and be out the door. He felt ridiculous as the doors opened... walking in the wrong direction for a minute before he even realized what he was doing.

The key card took every last bit of patience he had, but he was more surprised that John wasn't fast asleep, and that his jeans had just been laying there. He shrugged and took the wallet from them - that was too easy, and he knew it. Wanting to just leave, he decided against it, figuring if he didn't at least say something about the missing wallet, he wouldn't get any in bed for at least two minutes. Knocks at the bathroom door had gone unanswered, and he soon realized that his cowboy boots suddenly got soaked. The carpet was drenched and water was running from under the door. He jiggled the lock, blue-gray eyes wide in sudden panic as he resorted to thinking the worst, resorting to kicking the door in when his John gave no answer.

The jacket laid on the ground, water pooled over the edge. A few cautious, terrified steps closer and Morrison's motionless body appeared beneath the water. Miz dove into it, pulling his lovers heavy body out and knowing it was too late to do anything, but it didn't stop him from trying... or wishing he was dead too.


End file.
